To Come
by 2whitie
Summary: William views his tape, and arrangements are made. Set in the future.


"DON'T MAKE ME CALL YOU AGAIN!"

With an irritable sigh, William Clayton reluctantly lowered the volume of his headphones and slid off his bed. He trundled over to his door, bellowed that he was coming as fast as he could, then yanked a pair of sweats over his boxers.

Parent teacher conferences were the worst.

It wasn't that he was horrible at school, his grades were pretty decent. He just had no real interest in anything but film. His morning routine began with a quick skimming of the new reviews on Roger Ebert, homework only began after an hours-long perusal of old films on Youtube. His classes were merely a means to an end to get him into film school. His teachers felt the apathy, and although a few had earnestly tried to jog his interest in their given field, all had long since given up. He turned in his work, was quiet in class, and participated in enough video journalism contests to qualify him as involved. There was nothing more they could ask of him, so every conference was a quick summary of his grades, attendance, and depending on the teacher, a nice comment about how lovely it was to have him in class or a little comment about how he had so much potential.

Parent teacher conferences were the worst.

He ran down the stairs three at a time, grabbed the pop-tart that he had started a few hours earlier off the counter, then ran out to his mother's waiting car. Paul, his stepdad, was home early from work, and had presumably been press-ganged by his mother into coming. A moment later, they were off, and after what seemed like montage sequence of bright lights narrated by Charlie Brown's teacher, they were back, in almost the same positions they were in before the left, with the addition of a pizza. Triple meat with a cheese filled crust-a special prize for all A's and B's

Paul gathered up all the greasy napkins from the table, balled them up, then tossed them in the trash. "Have you decided which film program you want to apply to?"

He had, in fact. One thing he appreciated about both of his parents was their readiness to let him study what he wanted, even if the job market was difficult, instead of pressuring him into something safe like marketing. Paul was chill in general, but his Mom always worried about him. (Not without merit, mind you. He only had hazy memories of being kidnapped and the subsequent move, but he had only been allowed out by himself again in the past few years. Thank you, Paul.)

He swallowed his last piece of garlic laden crust. "I'm thinking the Star City film academy." After seeing his mother's face morph into panic, he hurried through the rest of his argument, eager to press his case. "They have lots of scholarship, have a ton of notable alumni for networking, and are nationally ranked in providing internships. It's also a few miles from one of the biggest film archives in the U.S. I know it's far enough that I would live in the dorms, but I think I can make up the difference from all of the scholarship I got from the Rising Star contest last spring." He was jumbling his words now. "I know I said I was gonna spend that on a new camera, but I think I can cover that if I pick up a second job this summer. It's what I want to do," he said, with the same no-arguments look that he unwittingly inherited from his father.

Paul has already squished himself into the couch cushions. "Sounds like you've got a plan. Hey, Sam, doesn't your sister still live in Star? Will could live with them."

His mother's fingers were white. In a small voice, quieter than he had ever heard, she asked, "Is there anywhere else?"

She didn't look angry. She looked scared.

Paul, from his place on the couch, caught the tone and raised his head.

He thought he should feel angry, but he remembered his kidnapping. Moving away at all was bound to make his mom nervous, and he had been held a few miles out of Star City. "Mom, it's fine. I wasn't even..taken..to Star. That was years ago, and you said everyone involved was caught."

She smiled a little watery smile. "I know, honey, but that isn't the only thing."

Well, now he was just confused. "What?"

She rubbed her temples, then gently set aside her plate. "Your father lives in Star."

Wait.

No.

A slight roar began to build up in his head, and he tried to keep it out of voice. "I thought you said you never knew my father." He hesitated. "You said that he was a one-night stand who flaked out the next morning before you got his name. You said you never knew him!" He was screaming now, and Paul was frozen, barely able to bring himself to turn off the news report of The Flash beating the tartar out of Gorilla Grodd.

His mom was crying. Good.

Red. That's all he saw. He didn't even now what he was saying, but whatever was pouring out of his mouth wasn't anything remotely close to English. It was tears, hurt, pain, and betrayal.

Finally, she was able to speak through her own tears. "He asked me to not tell you who he was until you were eighteen. He wanted to be there, he wanted..do you remember my friend that came over a bunch before you were taken?"

He did, but he didn't feel like being reasonable right now. "No," he bit out poisonously. "I don't remember anything."

"He left you a video message. For when you were eighteen."

He was eighteen in a few weeks. "Where?"

She walked over to the drawer and pulled out a battered red flashdrive. "I never watched it."

Without a word, so he couldn't say something he could never take back, he pulled out his laptop, scanned the flash drive, and waited for a window to pop up, stating that the content were ready to be viewed.

Finally, a quicktime player popped up.

 _Play?_ The computer asked.

Yes. He thought. He had questions he never thought he would never get answers to, and a lifetime's supply of little wonderings and fantasies that had built up in his quiet moments. Yes, I want to play.

An old grainy video, clearly filmed with an old webcam started.

He would play the video over and over that night. A few more times in the living room, and then a few hundred more times in his bedroom. His mom and Paul were discussing the situation quietly downstairs after he had rather forcefully told them he wanted to be alone.

He was the son of the Green Arrow.

On one hand, the movie-loving side of his was ecstatic. He had a name, a face, and a massive secret-the identity of one of the world's heroes. It was almost like having his own secret identity. The son of the green arrow. The Justice League had always seemed like a far off entity that dealt with worldwide threats, the Greek pantheon reborn into men. Now the entire group seemed personal, more intimate, like he was a phone call away from Batman.

On the other, he had been abandoned. He had been abandoned before his father became the Green Arrow. His name was William Clayton, but in another world, it could have been William Queen.

In favor of his paper on Japanese culture, he stayed up all night watching videos. Old news reports claiming that Oliver Queen was alive. Reports that claimed that The Arrow-his father-was a psychotic serial killer, reports that raised him up as a modern day Robin Hood. His current policies as mayor, the first known team up between him and Central City's Flash. The formation of the Justice League.

Everything.

By the time he emerged out of his room, a full day had passed. A friend had dropped off homework, his nosy neighbor had dropped off a tub of soup, and his mom and Paul were sleeping on the couch together.

He had come down with every intention of calling Oliver Queen's office, but what would he say?

Hallmark didn't make cards for this stuff.

The phone started to ring. Out of habit, he lifted the phone off its hook. "Clayton residence, Will speaking."

An unfamiliar voice piped through. "Hello, this is the Central City police department. Is Samantha Clayton there?"

He wasn't stupid. The Flash, Green Arrow, and Green Lantern were famously close, and often paired off to go on missions together. Although the League provided a united front, it was no secret who was closer with who. "Is this Flash?"

"What?! Why? Ollie said he hadn't spoken to you yet!"

He would take that as a yes. "He hasn't."

"Oooooh that little, wait, he hasn't? How did you know?"

He decided to wait in silence. Maybe the chatty red streak would out Superman while he was at it.

"Nevermind. It can wait. Seriously, though, is your Mom there?"

"She's asleep."

"Dang. Look, Ollie should be the one to have this conversation with you, not me. Your mom just wanted to check up on your Dad's situation and seemed to think that you might want to talk to him, or visit, something like that."

"How does my mom know you?" While his anger at his mother had certainly cooled, this was slightly maddening. Although he hadn't been a Central City resident for a while, he still held residual hero-worship for the city's hero. Nobody had ever told her no on spilling the beans on that front.

"We met once, during your kidnapping. I was sorta dealing with King Shark at the time, but I basically told your Mom to call Oliver when you went missing."

The openness about the situation was refreshing, to be honest. His mom had always been tight-lipped about the kidnapping. "Anything else I should know?"

"Not much. Oliver made sure he never knew where you were on account of having his mind read, giving it up during torture, stuff like that, but the rest of us occasionally checked in. Made sure you weren't dead, that kind of thing. He asked us to have the occasional present be gifted to you via contest, stranger, or what you thought was dumb luck."

He knew it!

"KF knows you, although that happened on accident. He didn't know you were Ollie's kid, and when everyone found out you two knew each other after we were looking through his phone for embarrassing pictures, I thought Oliver was going to commit murder."

Kid Flash knew him? How?

"How does he know me?"

The man on the other end of the phone suddenly sounded a little nervous. With a start, William realized that he never got his name. "That's for him to tell you."

Clearly, he wasn't going to say more. "Well, thanks," thoroughly meaning it.

"You are very welcome."

After hanging up, he ended up pacing the floor for a while. He still felt emotionally drained, and knew that he would end up talking to Oliver eventually.

Two weeks later, on his eighteenth birthday, he did.

He went up to the desk, but before he could tell the receptionist his name, the Mayor, _his father_ , told the woman that he had changed it to an lunch appointment.

They walked for a while without saying a word, both stealing glimpses of each other. Without a doubt he was his mother's son, but there were hints of his father in the jawline and eyes.

They went into a Big Belly Order, awkwardly placed an order, then sat in a private two person booth.

Oliver Queen had aged well. His well-defined muscles were not concealed at all by the neat cuts of his suit, and William could easily transpose the signature green mask over the sharp eyes. This wasn't the mayor of Star City. This was Green Arrow.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked.

Before William could answer the food arrived, and Oliver began to dig in, apparently unbothered by the awkwardness of the situation, or just used to dealing with possibly unpleasant situations. Most likely the latter. He ate like a machine, with calculated amounts, set amounts of energy for chewing, and precise movements. How anyone ever mistook him for anything other than a superhero was beyond him.

"A little shocked," he replied truthfully. "A little angry."

Oliver nodded, as if expecting this. "How involved do you want me to be in the future," he asked hesitantly. "This is your decision..I..I made mine a long time ago."

"I'd like to visit. I want to keep my home life the way it is, but I'd like you around."

A small, rare smile graced the Emerald Archer's features. "I'd like that." He changed subjects. "Your mom said you were thinking about coming here for college?"

He nodded. "It's sorta what set off his whole thing."

Oliver took a sip of his milkshake. "Your mother has concerns about safety, and they aren't entirely unfounded. We talked, and we decided that if you want to live here, you have to either stay with me and Pretty Bird, or you have to let us choose your roommate for college."

"I think I want to live in the dorms. No offense."

His father dipped a fry in the milkshake. "None taken. KF is thinking about enrolling in a Master's program for engineering, and only doing the hero gig on weekends. Instead of living in the dorms, the JL will probably rent you two an apartment and have him enroll in Star City U. Gives him a bit of freedom, a roommate who he doesn't have to hide anything from, gives you a bit of protection, and gives me, your mother, and Paul peace of mind. Deal?"

It was an excellent deal, better than he could have hoped. "Deal."

They shook hands.

For once, Oliver's plan worked out fully and completely. Film school took up plenty of his time, but Oliver was good about setting up times to meet. Wally was able to run him back home for quality time with his parents. The surreal nature of having a superhero for a roommate never got old. _("I don't care that the Martians were over, I was saving those double-stuffs)_ One time, during a crisis, he ended up doing history in the Arrow cave, where he had made small talk with the team, but made sure to avoid the blonde computer geek, whom he had unending amounts of dislike for after hearing the entire story. Oliver nearly lost his life after his mother found out he have him a crash course in archery _("You are not taking our son into a warzone)_ and once in a while, Wally ran him over to Central, where Barry casually set out another plate for him and asked how school was going.

Life was as it should be; good.


End file.
